[IC] Return of a Failed Generation

[Zeroth]

We Strive

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^{Credit for art to MOONYOON of Art Station}

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Year 1017 YC
The Last Day

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The golden afternoon had turned to crimson-hued night. Black smoke from a hundred homes, and the beating wings of airborne monsters, choked Hadrum with the shadow of death. The flames' heat parched the air and blistered the skin. Their light blinded the eye, offering no guidance through the darkness but promising the same end for all. Figures seen only in silouhette stumbled through the haze and the rubble; larger, blacker beasts fell upon them with cruel blades and tearing fangs.

Wulvers, Boogbears, and Orcs---these vicious predators, little more than animals on two legs but possessed with the primitive intellect to use weapons, formed the bulk of the Demon Army's vanguard. Yet, as they gave chase, the fleeing crowds parted around those who waded forward instead of falling back. Humanity's last defenders: those covered in dented, weather-beaten armor bearing chipped blades, some still nursing wounds from their last narrow escapes. Nonetheless, they held their formation and closed ranks as the citizenry fled beyond them. Despite their wounds, they bore the brunt of the Demon's charge as muscle, fur, and snapping jaws crashed against their shieldwall.

"Force them back down the streets!" came the strained cry from some captain or general---the chain of command had been broken so many times, it no longer mattered who gave an order, only that it was given. Only that someone continued to guide the guttering, fading flames of humanity's fighting spirit. "Push them to the central plaza, and surround them!"

The port city of Hadrum's upper district was structured like an enormous octopus, eight streets meeting like the spokes of a wheel at the great plaza. Where once merchants from all ports of the world had hawked their wares and taverns had rung out with sailor's bawdy shanties, now there was only bloodshed from every direction. Up the four westernmost lanes, Luzia's Royal Army tried to push the hordes away from the coasts, to cram them together as if they could force this unending flood of nightmares back into the unsealed jar from whence it came.

You found yourself among the crush of bodies, fighting for not only your own survival, but that of your entire species...

When you see a quote box like this, it is OOC Guidance; your characters themselves do not "see" this information.

The End of the First Life now plays out. Don't immediately rush to your demise yet---you may treat Demon Troops as Fodder for this scene. You have access to all abilities gained in the First Life.

GM

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A pack of Wulver raced between the blackened bricks and smoking rooftops, their claws clicking on the cobblestones. The alleys were empty---if they cut through, instead of joining the rest of the hordes trying to force their way down the thoroughfares, they could hit the humans' flanks and slow their counter-offense.

Or maybe they were just lost. Vincent didn't care which.

They didn't sense him coming. A window above the pack suddenly exploded outward, and a dark shape trailing crimson-and-black Aura kicked off the wall. Vincent's sword plunged through the base of the leader's neck as his full weight drove the monster down. He twisted, ripped the weapon free, and launched himself back towards another; took it through the chest and once again jerked his sword out of its carcass. Another slashed at him, but the scouting unit behind him had followed his lead. Men rained down on the walking wolves, eager for blood. As Vincent deflected the claws he drove his shoulder forward, tackling the beast into one side of the wall---its jaws snapped at him, but he slammed a knee into its groin. The wulver's whimper was almost pitiable. He rammed the point of his sword up through its snout and brainpan, then twisted away to see the rest of the alley was clear for now.

"Keep moving!" he told the team, and they dashed through the firelight and smoky shadows.

"Can't believe we got stuck with the Kaides Cripple..." one muttered, though another glared at him.

"Quiet! He hears you, he'll twist your jewels off and make you eat 'em! Bastard's crazy!" Vincent could hear them through his Aura, but he was used to it. If they did survive today, though, he was going to do exactly as the soldier had said. "We're lucky this is a counter-stealth attack---he normally tries to be a lot more intimidating than this!" Tries? Vincent decided he was going to kick that soldier where the sun didn't shine, too.

But, if they didn't keep the Luzian flanks clear, while everyone else tried to force their way up the main streets in neatly aligned columns, then it was very possible no one would ever see the sun beyond these choking clouds of smoke ever again...

[ERode]

Shields locked, the Royal Guard braced in unison as the crushing mass of monstrous flesh and crude steel surged towards them. It was a tide of endtimes, the disaster with a mind that had swept through the entirety of the kingdom. There was no room for prayers when the bells tolled and the scouts prophesied doom. There was no hope left for humanity, when the Demon King lived while Kaidisyum had fallen. Fires rose, and the hideous warsongs of the fiendish horde was carried skywards by the thermal drafts, as if to mock the sensibilities of the heavens themselves with their shrill cries and their thudding beats.

If they could not defend the capital, how could they defend a humble port town? If stone walls and ballista could not thwart the demonic threat, how could wooden palisades? If they could do anything, they ought to have done it already.

Since they did not do anything?

Ferrucio knew it was already over. He could hardly see through the slits of his soot-blackened helmet. His body had already felt like lead, the consequences of countless days spent repairing ships. His shield and sword were only a few steps removed from scrap. There was nothing left for him to live for, really.

His aspiration was dead. His nemesis was dead. The secret he thought he'd bring to his grave was shared with the only other who deserved it. And at the end of things, he was able to speak with someone who may have been a half-brother.

It had been a long while since his head had felt so clear.

"HOLD THE LINE!"

His shoulder jolted from the orc's chopping blow, but his fellow shieldsmen bolstered his own position. The spearman behind him thrust a pike right past his ear, skewering the monster through his eyeball, and Ferrucio followed through with a shove of his shield, sending the still-twitching corpse into the next. Wulvers pounced forth, snapping jaws and deadly claws, but he could hardly make out their form, and that predatory fear was reduced to nothing more than another impact, another near-impossible force. Air was punched out from his lungs; he drew in another smoke-filled breath as he cowered behind a warped shield and thrust blindly with his sword. Was it fur and flesh? Or just dirt? He couldn't confirm, and it didn't matter. The men behind him thrust once more, three spearheads digging into the lupine monster, and the Wulver fell back as Ferrucio advanced forth, a stomp on the monsters head as he maintained formation with the others. It was no advance, not really. Only the ebb and flow of the frontlines, the postmortem muscle contractions of a life already ended.

His tendons were fraying alongside his nerves. His muscles were tearing at the seams. Every collision worsened the fractures in his bones. Every kill was a miracle considering the circumstances. Hold the line. Hold the line. Hold the line!

Hold it, so that there would be no choice for the monsters, except to kill him before they could lay a hand on the Princess!

His lungs were raw.

In the throes of chaos, Ferrucio didn't even recognize his own voice.

[Remram]

It was the end of the world and all that anyone could do was fight against the tide of the inevitable while it slowly overtook the final spark. Bodies mangled and shredded were strewn about the harbor town, charring in the fires that spread unimpeded as the stars of the night sky were hidden behind by the plumes of smoke with beasts encircled in the skies above. Yelling and screaming, incoherent and drowned out by the roar of beasts and man were the background noise to a scene that could only be described as hell, falling short of deafening and god forbid anyone mention the smell. The smell of smoke, blood, and burned flesh seared the nostrils and offended the senses.

What was the point of this? As humanity raged they were only buying themselves minutes before their extinction. It would've been easier to lay down and die, and yet their bodies could not help, but move towards the meat grinder.

Rodin knew that it was all lost. He was not ever sure why he even still pushes forward. His family was dead, his friends buried by his own hands, and the woman he loved was dead. It was determined by fate that he was going to die there like a dog, but there was no fitting death for someone like him. Someone that gave up when it got too hard, someone that looked for every excuse when it stared at him plain in the face. So why did he still fight rather than just let death take him?

Because he was still there.

The half-blood's eyes focused through the gaps of the dented, soot covered slats on the incoming tide. The grip on his glaive tightened as he spun it over head and then swung it horizontally with vicious force as it cleaved the head of a Wulver. His weight shifted and he spun around, cut open the stomach of some creature and let its entrails hang out as his peripheral vision caught the sight of some sword swinging down towards him. Just barely catching it in time, he blocked the swing of an orc with the body of his glaive. The force of the impact reverberated through his muscles and bones, his teeth gritted tightly as he fought back against the pain.

Rodin quickly shifted the angle of his glaive and let the orc stumble forward as its weapon slid down the shaft. At that moment, he grabbed one of the throwing knives from his belt and stabbed its blade through the orc's skull before he spun around and threw it through the eye socket of some other monstrosity.

He heard the ear piercing screech of some airborne beast as it came swooping down towards him. With the same hand outstretched, he muttered something before that same knife flew out of the creature's skull and returned to his hand. As soon as it made contact with his hand, his fingers gripped tightly and he threw the knife at the birdlike creature's wing and pierced through its flesh. The creature screamed in agony as it plummeted downwards, off balanced, into the ground. Before it could regain its bearings, Rodin stabbed downwards into the creature's skull, killing it instantly.

He withdrew his glaive, now covered in blood and broken bits of gray matter. His breathing echoed in his helmet. Rodin could feel his body fail him: arms sore and heavy, his legs numb, and his throat was raw. Had he ever yelled and screamed so much in his life?

"Come on, just kill me already! How many of you bastards do I have to slaughter before you do?!" He screamed out as he charged forward to his demise.

[OwO]

ａｎｄ　ｔｈｅ　ｌａｓｔ　ｓｔａｎｄ

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Every ounce of her body screamed in pain as she drew her bow. It wasn't used to combat--not since nearly 12 years ago. Estelle didn't listen to her body. She hadn't since she left her home. Pain was both penance and illusory. Something she ignored. It didn't matter how battered her body had become in the last years of the war. The robes, hoods, and veils she had once worn had been replaced by bandages and scraps of leather-armour. She was nearly unidentifiable, though no longer out of choice.

She couldn't take part in the desperate push towards the central plaza. No, she couldn't hold a shield or sword anymore. But she wasn't of no use. While she rarely participated in battles even after she returned, there was still purpose. Fighting in town was chaotic and messy. Towns were meant to be lived in. Moved around in. They were a place of peace. Demons turned footpaths to ad hoc flanking routes, whether accidental or looking for paths to strike at the vulnerable. And Estelle stood within the alleyways to do as much as she could. The ground shook as a Boogbear followed by a few others ran at her, its large body not allowing another to pass it. One could simply fire blindly and they would hit something in this alley.

It certainly was one way to avoid missing.

Her fingers loosened. Even though the sound of war bellowed throughout the town, a distinct snap and whistle pierced the noise of the battlefield. The Boogbear lifted its weapon to protect itself. Metal crashed at metal as the arrow was deflected upwards from its path towards its chest to its throat.

Despite its thick hide, fat, and muscle to protect it, the Boogbear immediately dropped to its knees as the arrow tip severed its spine. It gurgled as it lurched, the demons behind it struggling to get around as they entangled around his limp body. Estelle turned to run without a second glance. Her run was slow. Yet it was enough to escape. Between the uneven floor and the large dying Boogbear that now blocked an alleyway, her slow pace was more than enough to leave and position herself elsewhere. It was nowhere near how a knight should be fighting. But she was never a knight.

[SilverPaw]

Isana

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Isana had a companion by her side, and that made all the difference.

Two of her friends lied dead already, buried two years ago. Another had split from her group at the beginning of the counter-attack. All archers, whether soldiers, mercenaries or adventurers had been stationed at cliffsides, the rooftops, the towers. Any and all vantage points had been claimed. Long ranged personnel were their most reliable means of felling the damned flying monsters. Without their support, the ships and the main army would be torn apart from above.

When they had said their farewells, they knew it would be for the last time.

“Dead or alive,” Vivian had pulled her into a tight hug. A forced grin stretched her features, a hint of bloodthirstiness in her gaze. A common expression since Amy had been slain.

“See you on the other side,”
"See you on the other side."

Isana and Eustace had echoed the greeting. Morbid, sure, but it suited wartime.

How many hours had passed since then?

Her throat was scraped raw, her lungs chock-full of smog, it felt as if she had been forced to inhale a volcano’s belching breath. She was tired to the marrow, but she had to keep squeezing her body for those last few drops of energy. Her muscles were strained beyond their limits, but she had to keep pushing.

Night had fallen, a veil over the ever-burning, sullen glow of the unquenchable fires. Isana flitted across the rooftops, scanning the alleyways for stray monsters. Three others patrolled beneath, Eustace one of them. They were one of the parties assigned to secure the pathways branching off from the main streets. They were to cull the straggles as much as they were to bite at the monster army’s flank. To protect their Royal Guards while thinning enemy lines from the sides.

At the approach of a group of orcs, she whistled to signal her allies, who were not far behind. An enemy’s beady eyes peered up in her direction, but she had already hidden behind a chimney. Quick and silent as a spider, she scuttered down the shingles. Upon reaching the gutter, she swung over, fingers grasping at the metal edge before she soundlessly dropped to the ground, breaking her fall with a roll. She dashed towards the enemy’s unprotected back, the clang of metal on metal so loud they did not hear her approach.

She aimed fast and true, stabbed an orc between two ribs. Her short sword pierced straight through its heart, felling the foe before it could as much as wheeze. She withdrew her blade, pivoting in time to deflect another orc’s club. With her free hand, she unsheathed a dagger. She stepped in, cut open its belly, and yanked out its guts. It roared, yet she danced away from its raging strikes, nimbly outmaneuvering the injured enemy. A slash at its ankle tripped it, and a final stab to its neck put it out of its misery.

When she looked up, her allies had already taken care of the others. A total of six orcs lay dead at the party’s feet.

Good.

Another monster unit down. Who knew how many more to go?

“HAhahaha! That’s how it’s done!” That was Raoul, a boisterous youth who couldn’t count more than twenty years. He was almost as lightly armoured as Isana, but wielded a huge jagged cleaver. She guessed he had lifted the weapon right off a monster’s corpse.

Was it because he because of his youth that he was so spirited? Or was he forcing it, as desperate to cling to hope as Isana was?

Mary rolled her eyes. She was the other adventurer who had joined up with her and Eustace when those unaffiliated with the military were reshuffled according to the battle plan. She must have looted her weapon too, for it was one of those ‘katanas’ Isa had heard of. Her metal armour was as dented as Eustace’s. If she wasn’t much mistaken, this was the woman who Miles had started getting close to before he had died.

“HEY! There’s more down there! Blocked by a corpse! Easy prey,” Raoul crowed as he discovered a new group of enemies down another sidestreet.

This was no time to reminisce, clearly. She met Eustace’s gaze, a tired smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, though his lips couldn’t manage a proper one. Isana returned the gesture with a knowing nod.

Then, they were off. Onwards and onwards, for there was no turning back.

They were on the edge of a precipice. They all knew it, even if no one said it. Because the moment they looked back, the moment they gave in to fear and despair, it would be all over. So, they would push.

Push. Kill. Advance.

For every inch gained, they shed gallons of blood. Yet if they lost so much as one, they might all perish.

There was no turning back.

[Thunder999999]

Lucas

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As he marches down the fourth and final street, armour battered but functional, poleaxe gripped tightly, and a recently replaced helmet hiding the grim look on his face, Lucas looks briefly over the men beside him, not many familiar faces left, the last few weeks of fighting retreats had bled them hard, but he shares a few nods, probably for the last time. There's a grim mood among them, not even Sir Justinian could inspire much morale today, they all know there will be no retreat, not even a regrouping with the cliffs at their backs, no, today they sell their lives as dearly as they can and hope the ships below escape before the demons spot them.

It doesn't take long for the demons to meet their line, the screams of the dieing and the clash of weapons drowning out any attempts at speech, while the metallic smell of fresh blood joins the acrid smoke. Lucas doesn't hesitate to wake his aura, the familiar silvery-grey mist coating his limbs, what need has he to conserve his strength when the demons will surely kill him before exhaustion can.
Each step forwards is paid in blood, a swift swing from right to left relieves a wulver of its tooth filled head, then the haft blocks an orc's sword with a jarring impact that may well have disarmed him five years ago, but now he simply pivots and thrusts the butt-spike through the demon's heart, finally he lets a second orc's sword glance off his armour before crushing its skull, all that buys him just enough space to take a step forwards.
Progress is slow and bloody, when someone falls, another soldier steps right over their corpse to fill the gap, and the tide of demosn seems unending, but those men who survive press on, stepping into any gap the demons leave, inching the frontline ever closer to the central plaza.
After the first hour of slow progress Lucas reconsiders his thoughts on exhaustion, particulary as painful memories of Felicia's death surface, the distraction costs him a painful axe blow to the left arm, his armour does its job, but the bruise makes his movement that much stiffer, at least the visor on his helmet hides the expression on his face.
He reigns the aura in, saving it for when something worse than a boogbear reaches them, no doubt the demons are holding the nastiest monsters back for when they weaken, as they had so many times before. Steel, strength and skill are enough for now, a swing kills a demon, a thrust with the spike into a haft-parry covers him as he steps into the gap. With each repetion the plaza gets that much closer.

[MooiEen]

Lucille could easily sense that this was the day. Hordes of monster arrived at the palace and soon everyone was shouting and attacking. She only had enough time to grab a bow and start shooting, the dark, enormous figures falling or, at least, slowing after receiving her arrows. The rest of the archers were doing the same, wave after wave of arrows falling at the army, figures falling, blood painting the ground before the palace.

But they kept coming. After every demon fallen, a group of them advanced some more. The shouting and battle soon got inside, smoke and darkness covering them all and making it more difficult to shoot their arrows. The scent of war and the dying started getting to Lucille, her eyes watering while she coughed, trying to keep shooting, to stop one more of them, to help a little. She still felt the eyes of the others on her, nobody expecting her, the ghost that never did anything important, to hold her own in the middle of a battle like this. "They are coming! The North door!" she shouted to no one in particular, seeing by her side how a group of demons could easily get past the arrows coming down continuously.

Her arms were starting to weight far more, having to use all of her strength to keep her bow up and keep shooting. Still, she got hit after hit, though they started to feel weaker, only slowing down the monsters. Almost none of the demons fell that easily now. As the soldiers in the palace lost their hope and strength, as they were, the demons appeared stronger, even happier. Their cruel smiles were visible even in the distance. Their cackles were starting to sound even up there, giving Lucille the chills. They didn't have much time.

A shout closer than normal got her attention. She turned, checking the entrances to the place where they were, noticing that there were bodies there. The demons were getting to them.

[Rune_Alchemist]

Ophelia Noella Kaides -
Hadrum, Last stand.
@OwO

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Inhale.

A swift sidestep, the heavy blow of the Orc missing entirely.

Exhale.

In the next instant, a swift, practiced movement. The blade thrust forward, the estoc piercing the creatures thick hide and sinking deep into its flesh. An angry, pitiful cry from the beast as the blade subsequently was pulled out, now covered in the monsters disgusting ichor. A second strike followed, piercing the creatures throat upwards into its skull. Unnecessary but she wanted to be certain it was no longer a threat.

A bellowing cry from behind, but she was already prepared as a Wulver charged. A step away as she'd spin to face the creature.

Inhale.

She could feel her lungs starting to burn. The amount of exertion she was having to perform just to keep up...

Exhale.

"Having trouble with a sickly girl like me, you guys must be the worst demons I've ever seen." Ophelia taunted, the despicable creature lunged forward, a sweeping strike. She'd grimace as her blade met its, a crack of pain blooming across her arm as she'd deflect it with all her strength. It was enough, though, for an opening. The Estoc found its way into the creatures abdomen, its viscera and guts spilling over the ground as she'd pull it out seconds later.

"Haa...."

Relative silence followed. The sounds of battle from the desperate push forward nearby reaching her ears. She'd very much have preferred to be there but...well, what could she do? She'd only get in their way. She had learned that lesson already. The message had been loud and clear from her father, to say nothing of the events that led to her mothers death. Instead, she had been clearing out and trying to cut off reinforcements or monsters nearby to help take the pressure off the center. She didn't know if it was helping but...

What else could she realistically do with this frail body of hers?

"...whew...okay. This exhaustion is getting to me-!"

A snarling cry from above, a beating of wings as it landed in front of her, slamming her with its wings.

"Guh-!"

Ophelia was knocked backwards, the impact sending her stumbling backwards.

"Tch, bastard-!" She was cornered between an alleyway and a flying monster, now. The small side street she had been fighting on and working down now blocked by this creature. "Fine...you'll die like the others." Tough words, despite her aching body and the fact that blow had likely broke something, but there was nothing for it. She wasn't going to fall here, no. She refused.

[King Cosmos]

"Forward!"

Men on either side of him, their faces different from those he had been standing beside a few minutes ago as the dead were lost underfoot and others stepped forward to fill the gap. More men behind him, pushing him forward in a relentless press that urged the entire front line towards the enemy lest some lose their nerve and this disaster turn into a rout.

He blinked dirt from his eyes and another enemy stood before him. An Orc? A Wulver? Something else? It hardly mattered at this point, it swung at him nonetheless and he pivoted his body to let the claw or weapon pass through empty air. His shoulder locked up for a fraction of a second, but the following thrust was fast enough that it didn't matter as he drove his sword into the soft meat of it's throat and it fell back gurgling to reveal the next behind it.

"Forward!"

They pressed onwards again, creeping forward another few feet as they stepped over bodies both human and demon. None of them were brave or foolish enough to look down and check. Nor did he dare look back and see how few men were available to take his place should he or anyone else fall. Their shield wall advanced, stretching from one side of the wide avenue all the way to the other, those at the edges scraping the bricks with their kites and pauldrons. It was one of the main thoroughfares crossing the city, offering an easy path from the docks to the centre and the demons seemed hellbent on opening that path for their troops. The defenders, in turn, were equally hellbent on not letting them take it and was spilling copious amounts of blood towards that end, though from the sounds of fighting coming both from and the sides and behind them it seemed the demons had found alternate paths to take.

"Forward!"

Mateo has no idea who kept screaming the order to advance. He had lost sight of any sort of commander ages ago and the voice kept changing regardless. From how rough his throat felt, it might even have been him. It bore repeating though; each fresh wave of demons pushed them back precious meters which they then clawed back inch by inch with every shouted order to advance.

Another swing of his leaden arm saw another foe fall and was relieved to see open street behind it for the first time in what felt like hours. The shield wall exhaled audibly, relaxing a fraction of an inch even though they could see the next wave of demons already rushing them for the other end of the avenue. They had blessed seconds to rest before the fighting would begin again and at least this time Mateo could allow himself to use a bit of aura to help clear away the first dozen demons, before he started conserving it again.

"Forward!"

They marched, feet touching cobblestone for the time being as they advanced ahead of the carpet of dead bodies gained as much ground as they could before steel met fang and claw again. Mateo shook some life back into his limbs, wiped the sweat and blood and dirt from his good eye and silently prayed that the man on his right was stalwart enough to compensate for his lack of peripheral vision on that side.

[Zeroth]

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Year 1017 YC
The Last Day

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Humanity fought for every step forward. With each timeworn boot pressed against the bloody streets, they pushed the demon scourge back. A purple, crackling cloud spread over a shield like fog. It snapped together as a solid layer of crystal and blunted an orc’s cleaver. A speartip covered in viridian, twisting power drilled through armor, fur, then flesh. Those who became masters of combat had unlocked this power, drawn from their very life force. At a minimum, one’s Aura filled their body like blood and breath, amplifying their physical attributes. Yet, as demons were forced back and cleared from alleys, surrounded in the plaza...something was wrong.

"The ships!" the cry began. "THE SHIIIIIIPS!" Those who dared take their eyes from battle were first to realize the folly. Sails blazed against the sliver of blue horizon---wreathed in flames that stood out even against the town's inferno. Another volley of flaming ballistae arced through smoky skies. They were joined by flashing lights from Devil spellcraft. The artillery had been carried not by seige engines of pilfered wood and rolling stones, but on broad ogre backs. Massive wooden hulls creaked and lilted to one side as they took on water through great, gaping gouges. How had the Demons gotten around them?

Generals and captains called for a fallback. Those who had pushed so hard from the front now had to guard the rear, and the beastmen were only too eager to pursue them again. The human's rear lines had been lured too far from the shores; by the time they were upon the demons that somehow made it around their defenses, the second half of the foe's forces were ready for them. Goblins and lizardkin fell just as the pigmen and wolves had. Humanity bloodied their way towards the shoreline---knowing all the while that they were now in the middle of a pincer trap.

But humanity had one weapon left. A golden column flashed across the ocean. Parting waves as it barreled atop the water, it struck the shore before the sound of its travel echoed in thunderous reverberation. Hundreds, perhaps a full thousand demons, fell to that light---but they were not burned, nor crushed. They were...divided, as if empty space had simply decided to invade their bodies, creating a separation between physical matter.

"It's Lord Kaides!" came the cries of those still foolish enough to hope. "That's the Divine Rift technique!" Aura at a level beyond mortal understanding, converted into "space" itself. A heroic power wielded only by the man called the "Divine Sword." "He must have defeated the Merqueen's fleet!" But their hero was too late to save their own ships. A golden comet streaked across the sky after the blast, hitting the water once and skipping like a stone thrown around the world. A column of debris flew from the shoreline, sending down a rain of salty spray. Martenos Kaides, Patriarch of the Great Clan, still made an imposing figure as he trudged out of the perfectly circular crater he'd made in the shallows, clutching a great wound at his side while the other hand gripped his Aura-clad greatsword.

As you watched the Head of your House return to the battlefield, however...a new enemy appeared much closer to you.

"Finally...". He was suddenly there when he had not been before. If not for the sheer flood of Aura rolling from every crevice of his armor, he might not have stood out from any other demon. But it was unlike anything you had ever experienced---if an Awakened Aura's likeness was that of mist, this was a cloud of tar. Yet somewhere in that dark nebula, glittering lights seemed to move back and forth...as if the stars themselves had been trapped by this viscous mass. The Demon King stood amidst the battlefield. He was within reach of so many weapons, yet his gaze fixated upon only one among the thousands of humans.

"KAIDES!" he roared across the shores of carnage. "Will you face me this time?! Let us end this tale the proper way---the so-called hero, and the demon king!" There was a mad glee in those words. A dark cape billowed in the draft created by the flare of that midnight-tinged Aura. The jet-black, glassy blade rose high in a triumphant fist. All around him, the demons flew into a frenzy and the humans despaired.

Little did the dark lord know that more than one "Kaides" remained on the field.

Don't "die" yet---but your "last moment" begins here. Do you dare to engage the Demon King? Do you rush to the aid of your Patriarch, despite the living hell that was your life? Did you fall on your way to reach them, or defending another? This was the moment of your final, greatest loss...

GM